


Don't Hold My Hands Accountable (They're Young And They're Dumb)

by cuddlyhale



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, harry is Emo im sorry, harry throughout the years basically, i think ??, it's cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-07-29 21:59:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7701283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuddlyhale/pseuds/cuddlyhale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry was 16 when his heart froze over and was buried under a mountain of self-loathing.  (Harry had been following Draco, giving him something to focus on, giving him a distraction, giving himself something to look forward to, something to live for. They kissed in broom closets and in abandoned hallways and finally Harry had met someone. It was against everything Harry had ever been taught and it was wrong and this was Malfoy— the person who had given him more hell than the Dursley’s over the years — but oh god, his lips were soft and burned the mountain of self-loathing to the ground, replaced by a waterfall of emotions, constantly spilling over the edge.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Hold My Hands Accountable (They're Young And They're Dumb)

**Author's Note:**

> song used for the title: The Emotion - BØRNS

Harry was 10 when he understood what the word ‘gay’ meant. It was an abomination, it was awful, it wasn’t right, it couldn’t be right, it was blasphemy, it was _wrong_. It was worse than magic — and anything abnormal for that matter — to his perfectly normal aunt and uncle, so Harry knew it couldn’t be good.

Harry was 11 when he returned to Privet Drive. He had come to a house devoid of any of the love he had attained while at Hogwarts and for the first time in months Harry felt cold and unwanted and he had goosebumps on the back of his neck and shaky hands. He took uncle Vernon’s words like knives to his heart and accepted that this was what life was now, at least until September first when he could leave.

_(Did Draco Malfoy return to angry parents? Was he reprimanded for not befriending Harry like he was obviously instructed to? Did his parents love him behind those cold masks of indifference?)_

Harry was 12 when he was dubbed the heir of Slytherin by angry year mates. God, how stupid could they be? Why would he petrify _Hermione_? Why would he ever want to hurt _anyone_? Since when has he fallen to the level of someone like Malfoy? He goes into the chamber of secrets and faces Tom Riddle who is handsome but doesn’t look quite _right_ and Harry nearly dies but he doesn’t and Fawkes, the phoenix, _the epitome of warmth and fire and rebirth_ , saves him and he deems that feeling something to live for.

 _(He makes eye contact with Draco in the great hall afterwards. Draco nods like he’s glad Harry’s not dead and Harry nods because he’s glad he and Draco can co-exist without_ angry _words and_ angry _threats and_ angry _glares.)_

Harry was 13 when Draco Malfoy dressed as a Dementor — a monster, a creature of darkness, Harry’s worst nightmare come to life mere inches away from him— purely to antagonise Harry and it finally sunk in that Hogwarts wasn’t safe anymore. He was in public, surrounded by his classmates and Hermione and Ron and Hagrid whom he trusted with his life but oh god his hands were shaking and his heart was attempting to escape the confines of his chest just as Sirius Black had escaped his own cell to hunt Harry down.

_(Malfoy, of course it was Malfoy, who destroyed every good thing Harry ever had, who looked down upon Harry for being Gryffindor, for being good, for being pure, for not being Slytherin, for not accepting Draco’s request of friendship. Maybe he should’ve and saved himself the trouble.)_

Harry was 14 when he saw Cho’s arm linked with Cedric’s at the Yule Ball and he felt warm and full of jubilation as the champions moved on with the tournament. There was a party and it was Christmas and his hands had finally stopped shaking. Cho looked beautiful and he was happy for her as Cedric’s tan skin and bright hazel eyes shone with happiness and Harry felt his face heat up and blamed it on the room full of people.

_(Harry caught a glimpse of Draco’s tight mouth and Pansy’s smug smirk as they circled the dance floor. Harry could see cracks in Draco’s otherwise calm, aristocrat facade that he doubted anyone else saw.)_

Harry was 15 when he hugged Sirius at Grimmauld Place and understood what a _family_ was. Molly cooked dinners and they all sat around the old dining table. There was laughter and noise and constant commotion but Harry felt himself smiling and he couldn’t help but think back on Christmases at the Dursleys’ — cold silent affairs with Petunia and Vernon doting on Dudley and few glances thrown Harry’s way like a distracted owner threw a dog treat to a pet who was too old and had overstayed his welcome.

_(Harry wondered what christmases at Malfoy manor were like, whether Draco felt like a king returned to his castle or if his parents couldn’t care less about him now with the dark lord’s return.)_

Harry was 16 when his heart froze over and was buried under a mountain of self-loathing. It was _his_ fault Sirius was dead, it was _his_ fault three of the original four marauders were dead, it was _his_ fault for the dark lord’s return, it was _his_ fault for the headlines on the front of the _Daily Prophet_. He returned to Hogwarts, his safe haven for the past five years, and felt as dead and miserable as he had been at the Dursley’s. Hermione and Ron tried to cheer him up but they left only flickers of sparks of warmth in his chest.

 _(Harry had been following Draco, giving him something to focus on, giving him a distraction, giving himself something to look forward to, something to live for. They kissed in broom closets and in abandoned hallways and finally Harry had met someone who looked_ right _unlike Tom Riddle in the chamber who still gave him shivers and it was against everything Harry had ever been taught and it was wrong and this was Malfoy— the person who had given him more hell than the Dursley’s over the years — but oh god, his lips were soft and burned the mountain of self-loathing to the ground, replaced by a waterfall of emotions, constantly spilling over the edge.)_

Harry was 17 when he went on the run with Ron and Hermione. Dumbledore was dead and Harry knew there was nothing he could’ve done to stop it but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t run over every scenario in his head before bed. It doesn’t mean he fantasises about an alternate universe where everyone is alive; where everyone is happy. He doesn’t fantasise about a warm fire and a cosy bed and a family to return home to. He ignores Hermione and Ron as they slowly admit their feelings to each other and Harry feels replaced and like a third wheel and it isn’t hard for the horcrux he wears around his neck to take advantage of his dark heart.

_(The horcrux constantly hisses words about Draco in his ear, how he is better off without Harry, how he will only damage Draco, how he breaks everything he touches, how death is draped over his shoulders like a cape and Draco is doomed.)_

Harry was 18 when he stood in the courtyard, surrounded by teachers and students and everyone who had every believed in him and had made Hogwarts feel like home. He heard cries of anguish and distress from a mob dressed in black, mourning the death of their lord. Harry’s heart wouldn’t stop beating loudly in his ears, he could still feel green sparks running through his veins, giving him power and glory and a sense of _finality_. Harry is exhausted and so, so tired and he almost falls but there are arms holding him up.

_(He knows those arms anywhere— They’re Draco’s. He feels safe and warm and alive and he allows himself a minute to collapse, knowing Draco wouldn’t let anything happen to him. Not after everything that’s happened.)_

Harry was 20 when he moves in with Draco in a small house in an _insignificant_ village in an _insignificant_ town in an _insignificant_ place. Draco’s family heirlooms adorn the walls and the couches are made of white leather and the curtains are Slytherin green but it’s their home; Harry lays a red blanket over the backs of the couches and the Wicked Sisters is always background noise despite Draco’s half-hearted complaints. There’s a fire and Harry and Draco curl up in front of it every night, Draco with a book and Harry’s fingers threading through his hair like he’s trying to thread their mutual dark pasts together and turn it into something _ethereal_ , something _colourful_ , something _lasting_. Their two cats often join them, their joined purrs a calming noise Harry is used to, a noise that calms his nerves immediately and stops his hands from shaking.

 _(Draco will kiss his temple before returning to his book and Harry feels loved and warm and all the pieces in his life-puzzle are coming together to reveal a picture where Harry is happy and safe and how could anyone think this is wrong when it feels so_ right _?)_

**Author's Note:**

> hope you liked it !! (-:
> 
> hmu on tumblr: cuddlyparrish


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